Reconstruction
by ScarletCarly
Summary: Severitus Challenge. AU after publishing of OotP. Begins in Harry's 5th year, as Harry struggles with his losses. WIP.
1. Summary and Disclaimer

**Summary :**

This is AU now that _Order of the Phoenix _ has been published. It begins in the middle of Harry's Fifth Year and is a Severitus challenge. Harry struggles with his losses and isolates himself from everyone around him.

This is still a WIP (work-in-progress).

**Update, 09/2003 :**

Chapter 12 is up. Additionally, I have edited all chapters for grammar as well as adding things in that have previously been omitted or badly stated. Chapters 1-12 have been beta'ed.

**Disclaimer :**

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 


	2. Prologue

Harry sat with his head in his hands, staring out the window without seeing.

He had been sitting like this for several hours, glad to be left alone to his thoughts. In a few hours the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive, and he would have to abandon his quiet solitude.

He wanted to see his friends. He wanted to get back to a normal routine.

Voldemort was dead. Even now the Ministry was rounding up the last of his supporters. It was over.

It was the middle of January. His Fifth Year had been interrupted nearly a month before Christmas break, when the school had to be evacuated. Harry had returned to the Dursleys, only to be attacked his very first night back. Professor Dumbledore had arrived barely in time to keep Harry out of Voldemort's clutches.

The Dursleys had not been so lucky.

Harry remembered vaguely that he had despised the Dursleys. Now they were gone. He tried to feel something, anything, but it was an effort just to remember what they had looked like.

The numbness had been with him since the night Dumbledore brought him back to Hogwarts. He ate, slept, studied, but felt nothing.

Even his part in Voldemort's demise had been like a dream, through which he had moved as if sleepwalking.

For a brief moment he had rejoiced with the rest of the world, and had felt the icy shell around him crumble. He felt free, he felt on fire.

Then the news had come, and his heart had shattered, leaving a void in its place which he knew could never be filled again.

Sirius was dead.

There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to feel. Harry might as well have died himself.

He relived that moment over and over in his head. He no longer felt the pain that had nearly destroyed him. The memory was empty of emotion; there were only the images repeating ceaselessly whenever he closed his eyes.

He saw again Dumbledore crossing the Great Hall toward him, his face pale and drawn, his eyes anguished. He saw Lupin collapse against the frame of the staffroom door; heard the cry that was torn from his throat. He saw arms reaching out to him, hands grabbing at him, trying to stop him. His feet carried him up hundreds of stairs. He fell; his knees bled. He felt Snape's arms around him, keeping him from the balcony, leaving bruises as he struggled. He saw himself, almost as though from outside his own body, as he collapsed to the floor.

Now the students would return to Hogwarts, and the school year would continue. He welcomed it. He would throw himself into his studies. He would surround himself with friends. He would _live!_

If only outwardly.

No one could know. There was too much pain already, he would not be the cause of more. He would play his part.

That was all that was left of his life. 


	3. First Night

Harry came down the marble staircase. In front of him, the front doors of the castle were open, and through them a steam of students poured in out of the cold, heading toward the Great Hall.

He took the last few steps down, and stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

His eyes met those of his best friends.

Hermione, her face pale and dark circles under her eyes, as though she had not slept well in many nights.

Ron, his eyes betraying everything he had suffered: three funerals, his mother's break down, the unrelenting reporters hounding his family.

They stopped, not sure what to do next, not sure how to meet each other. Harry came toward them, and they simply stood there, frozen, eyes locked on each other but unable to find words.

The last of the students came through the doors, avoiding looking at the three of them, all except for one.

Draco Malfoy, his usually pale and thin face now skeletal, came in last, and his gaze stayed on Harry, his head twisting around as he walked past them and disappeared into the Great Hall.

"Harry," Hermione broke the silence, her voice strained, "it's so good to see you." She laughed a high, unnatural laugh, and looked terrified by the sound.

Harry forced himself into the role he had chosen to play. He turned to Ron.

"I'm so sorry, Ron," he told him. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"It's alright," Ron said gruffly. "I know you had enough to deal with."

They stayed silent for a moment.

"Shall we?" Harry motioned toward the Great Hall.

They went, and sat down in their usual place, huddled close together at one end of a visibly uncrowded table, in a Hall that was unnaturally hushed. No chatter, no laughter, no shuffling; only muted and hesitant voices.

Harry looked around the spacious room. There was no need for four tables now -- they could have fit around two. The Slytherin table was more than two thirds empty; Harry could count on his fingers the number of Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Years he saw. His eyes again found Malfoy, who sat alone, his bodyguards missing, far apart from his Housemates.

There was no speech. Food appeared on their plates and they ate in silence.

The ceiling above them was a shower of sparkling snowflakes. The walls were brightly decorated. The House banners flew. It was almost festive, the play of color and light, but each of them sat alone, in fear, in grief... in silence.

Harry surveyed the staff table. Dumbledore sat in his usual place in the center. On either side of him, McGonagall, Flitwick, Lupin, Snape...

Snape was staring at him, his expression unreadable. Only a short time ago, Harry would have torn his eyes away, but now he gazed steadily into Snape's dark eyes, and it was Snape who looked oddly disturbed, and broke contact first.

The meal ended, and they went up to their dormitory. Harry watched the others unpack, sitting on his own bed, not wanting to interrupt the silence that still hung between them.

"So..." Ron began, finally looking at him as if noticing him for the first time.

"I guess... Good night," Harry said.

"Yes... Good night," Ron repeated, giving him a small smile.

For the longest time, each of them could feel the others lying in the darkness, still awake, afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe lest they disturb the stillness of the night, and each of them was even more keenly aware of the empty bed, its spectral presence swallowing all the air in the dorm. 


	4. An Outsider

Harry walked into the classroom behind Ron and Hermione.

It was the day he had been waiting for, the day classes would finally start. He could get lost in the routine now, and wouldn't draw so much attention. All he had to do was study hard enough, and do well enough in his classes. That, along with eating and sleeping, was all that was really required of him. If he could do that, he would be left alone.

They were all acting unnaturally now. Ron and Hermione, along with most of the other students, had realized that a night like last night could not be repeated. Fake smiles and ceaseless cheery conversations were all around him. The smiles never reached their eyes, and they talked only to keep back the malignant silence, but as long as you didn't scratch the surface you could pretend.

"What do you think our new professor is like?" Hermione leaned over to ask.

This was History of Magic. Professor Binns was gone, though no one knew why or how the ghost had vanished.

"I don't know," Ron said, snickering loudly, "but I don't see how she could fail to be better than Binns."

Harry did his part by laughing, a little too loud and a little too long. He would have to work on that.

"Shhh," Hermione hissed, "here she comes!"

The class quietened, and all eyes turned to the door, through which a short, plump woman had entered. She walked to the front of the class and beamed at them.

"I'm your new instructor, Professor Hayes," she told them. "Open your books to page 102 please, and let us begin."

Ron shot a glance at Harry. "I could have been wrong," he muttered.

As the professor droned on and on, Harry forced himself to hang on to every word. At the end of class he had taken more notes than even Hermione, who had given up a little over half way through and began leafing through her new Arithmancy book.

They trudged through the snow to Herbology, where Professor Sprout broke into tears as they filed around the table. Harry stood still as a stone statue as she recounted the virtues of their missing classmates, until he noticed that around him students were sniffling and rubbing their eyes. He took his cue from them, dropping his head and sniffing loudly at the pungent greenhouse air. He knew it worked when Hermione patted his arm.

Lunch and break passed similarly. Hermione told them of her forced holiday in France, where her parents had sent her to visit an aunt. They avoided discussing Ron's family, or Harry's stay at Hogwarts, and skipped to the journey to Hogwarts. Ron told him how Ministry officials were posted at the end of every car. Hermione told him how one had confiscated a book from a Seventh Year Ravenclaw in the compartment next to them.

Harry made it to his final class for the day, which was double Potions with the Slytherins. He arrived early, ahead of Ron, who had forgotten his book in the dorm, and Hermione, who had stopped to talk to McGonagall.

He took his regular seat in the back, and allowed his eyes to roam around the room. They fell on a desk that stood off to the side, away from the rest. It wasn't necessary any longer. There would be no more explosions in Potions.

In fact there were too many desks altogether, he thought as he watched the rest of the students file in. 'Potions with Slytherins'... 'Potions with Draco Malfoy and Tracey Davis' was a more accurate description.

Snape was late. They waited, somehow not daring to continue their chatter in the gloomy dungeon classroom. The silence was oppressive.

Snape swept into the room, for a moment looking exactly as he always did. It was only when Harry saw the worried crease on his forehead that he knew this class, like all the rest, would never be normal again.

Snape glanced around the room, taking in the empty chairs, and the students, most of them sitting in the back.

"Move up to the front rows," he told them, turning away and beginning to write out the lesson on the board.

They moved, reluctantly, until the first two rows of desks were filled. Harry found himself with Malfoy on his left, and could feel the other boy's eyes on him again. Another person studying him. Another time, he would have been annoyed. Now he was used to it.

"Today, we will be making a simple healing potion," Snape announced.

They had done healing potions before. Harry chopped, sliced, mixed, and stirred. His potion looked right when he finished.

Snape moved between the desks, looking over their shoulders and making notes occasionally. It wasn't until Snape had passed him and began to examine the contents of Malfoy's cauldron that Harry realized that half of the class had passed without Snape making a sarcastic remark or taking points.

He wondered what Snape saw when he looked around the room. Did he see the empty seats where the Slytherins -- his favored students -- should have been? Did he miss the sound of vials breaking, a potion bubbling over the rim of a cauldron, and the yelps of terror as Neville Longbottom tried to get out of the way of a cauldron spitting sizzling drops? Did he see the scars some of them bore, or the way they avoided meeting anyone's eyes?

He felt like an outsider, an observer looking in, not really a part of it. He saw them, but they didn't return his stare.

No, that wasn't true. He could still feel Malfoy watching him, even when he had turned the other way. He turned suddenly, and met the other boy's eyes before he could look away.

"What is going on?" Snape demanded, rounding on them as though having seen them through the back of his head.

"Nothing, sir," Harry replied in a neutral tone he had perfected.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked, turning to the other boy.

"Nothing," Malfoy echoed.

Snape said nothing more, but Harry knew he continued to watching him out of the corners of his eyes all through the rest of the lesson. 


	5. Need

The days passed, one after the other.

Quidditch practice started, and Harry woke up before dawn, no matter the weather, and collapsed into bed after a late night practice. In between, there were classes.

There should have been no time and no energy for thought, but Harry's brain never quite shut off. While he slept, his control of himself weakened, and in his dreams he could not avoid the thoughts he ignored in the daylight.

He thought he wouldn't miss it. He thought he didn't want it. Being alone was what he feared, because then the thoughts would come, with nothing to distract him. But the pretense was exacting a harsh toll. He was surrounded by his friends, being constantly reminded of their losses, being reminded of his own loss. It exhausted him, to always have to be ready with his counterfeit emotions, to have to listen to the others bare their pain to him and expect him to understand.

He didn't understand how they could do that. How could they allow the pain to overwhelm them in the night, yet get up the next morning and go to classes? The one time he had allowed his pain to overwhelm him, the world had crumbled around him. Getting up the next morning had not been an option. Getting up ever again had not been an option. He had only been able to do so once he had shut off all feeling.

They hadn't seen him, that time. If they had, he knew they would have been horrified. His pain was nothing like their orderly, healthy grief. Their lives went on while they grieved, but what he had inside of him was a flood that would drown them all if the dam ever broke.

And now, their attempts at comforting him, the sharing of their pain, their almost constant demands, all were chisels chipping away at the walls he had erected.

Getting away proved to be a difficulty. He was being watched. If he stood too far away from his friends, if he didn't take part in their conversation but stood off to the side, or if he tried to walk alone in the gardens or around the lake; he could feel half a dozen pairs of eyes following him. He knew them by feel now, and he didn't need to turn around and search for the one intruding on his solitude. The despair emanating from Dumbledore's eyes, the sadness from Lupin's, the pensive but shrewd look from McGonagall... but easiest of all to discern were the burning, piercing glances thrown his way by Snape.

Sometimes he thought Snape followed him in the corridors. He could feel those black eyes on him, and sometimes at the edge of his vision he caught the swish of black robes around the corner. In Snape's class, he felt himself being studied like a specimen under glass. It was hard to dismiss. The others he expected to continue to worry for a little bit longer, but if something about his manner disturbed Snape, he must not be doing enough to hide what was wrong with him.

Maybe it was because it had been Snape who had pulled him away from the edge. The others had not arrived in time to witness firsthand the struggle that took place on the balcony. Whatever Snape had told them, in his typical cold and callous way, could not have come close to giving them an accurate account.

Ironically, out of all his professors it was Snape whom Harry could most easily tolerate being around. Snape did not attempt to trick him into revealing his feelings. Snape did not attempt to discuss Sirius, Voldemort, the Weasleys, or the war. Snape did not try to comfort him by enveloping him in a suffocating hug, or patting his shoulder, or any of the other efforts that Harry had to steel himself to endure. Snape was, more or less, still Snape. A quieter, more cautious, less tyrannical Snape, but still cold, unyielding, and forbidding. He still took points, but left off the stinging remarks. He still assigned detentions, but the pupil was no longer mercilessly victimized throughout the assigned task. He was no more fair in his treatment of Gryffindors than he had ever been, only now there were too few Slytherins left to bestow benevolence upon.

It was almost a comfort, sitting in Snape's class. The others were too subdued to try to whisper or even catch his eye. If he studied the night before, he didn't need to listen closely to the lecture. And while preparing his potions, Harry was blissfully left alone by all. Often, these were the only few hours in the day when he could withdraw into himself, able to tune out the needs and wants of his friends and professors.

If only he had Potions more frequently. The days he did not began to be days he could barely get through.

Emerging from the dungeons after each class, it was harder and harder to face what had to be done. He would give anything for a few more hours in the dim light and cheerless silence of the dungeons.

It was a strange wish coming from someone who once couldn't stand the idea of being in the same room with Snape longer than necessary, but the more he thought about it, the more an idea began to form inside his mind. 


	6. Gamble

It was Hermione, really, who gave him the idea.

"I think he saves the most foul chores for our detentions," Ron had grumbled as the three of them were returning from the dungeons one evening.

"No, just the most tedious," Hermione had replied.

It was true, Harry realized, that most of the tasks Snape assigned were dull, repetitive, or tiresome. It made sense that he would dislike mundane and time-consuming tasks like chopping or grating ingredients. How convenient then, to be able to assign these jobs to his pupils as punishment for their blunders in his class. No wonder he was so quick to hand out detentions for every small offense.

Since Harry only wanted a week or so with more breathing space, a detention would be just the thing. Snape rarely assigned a specific number of hours; more often he expected the student to stay until the task was completed. This would be easy to take advantage of.

It was a simple plan. After all, it didn't take much to infuriate Snape.

He went to bed that night intending to put his plan in action first chance he got.

He had to wait. Potions was not one of his classes the following day, but at least his afternoon classes were ones he did not share with his friends.

He spent a miserable dinner, trying to ignore the looks cast his way from the staff table. Both Ron and Hermione were absent. He wondered briefly where they were, though he certainly didn't miss their chatter.

After dinner, Harry entered the Gryffindor common room and put down his books on one of the tables. He intended to spend a few hours studying and hoped that his friends would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Harry!" Hermione called out, running down the dormitory stairs into the common room. "I just got an owl..." she panted, out of breath, while he tried to focus on her words. She was waving a piece of parchment. "It's from Ron! Did you know that he was called away?"

"No," Harry frowned, trying to recall when he had seen Ron last. "We didn't have our last two classes together today. The last time I saw him was just after lunch."

"Bill came and got him, in the middle of his last class."

"Oh."

"Harry!" Hermione put her hands on her hips, and frowned as she peered closely at him. "Aren't you going to ask me why?"

"Oh! Yes, of course," Harry lied, it having just occurred to him that he was expected to say something along those lines. "I was just surprised."

Hermione blinked several times, a mix of confusion and annoyance on her face.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked hurriedly, before she could accuse him of not caring what happened to his friend.

"Well," Hermione said slowly, her huffiness dissolving. "No, actually, his mum just got released from St. Mungo's today."

"That's great!" Harry exclaimed, forcing a grin onto his face. He couldn't decide what else to say, but clearly Hermione was expecting a big show. "That's really great!"

Hermione grinned at him, the guarded look gone from her face.

"Isn't it though? I know Bill tried so hard to do everything, but how could he? And he couldn't have stayed much longer without risking losing his job. His income is so badly needed."

"Maybe Mrs. Weasley will convince Ginny to return to school," Harry added, finally thinking of something to say. Hermione was the worst person to talk to, instantly becoming suspicious if he was too quiet. It was a constant challenge, to force himself to contribute to conversations.

"I don't know about that," Hermione sighed. "Remember Ron told us she still won't leave the house?"

Harry nodded, though he didn't. Lately he had been tuning out a lot of what his friends said, his concentration wandering.

"I'm going to write a reply. If you like, you can send a letter with mine." She hesitated halfway to the stairs. "I'm sure Ron wanted to owl you too, Harry..."

"I know. It's my fault, I haven't been all there lately," Harry interrupted before she could continue. He knew this was a good response, as long as he didn't overuse it.

Hermione flushed guiltily. Harry realized it probably meant she and Ron would try harder to involve him.

"It's alright Harry, we all understand," she said. "I don't know what to say half the time either." She sighed miserably. "When people say 'we've all lost someone' I feel so guilty. Because I haven't lost anyone in my family." She looked at him with a mixture of expectancy and fear.

"But you've lost friends," Harry reminded her. "You shouldn't feel bad because you haven't lost anyone closer than that. We're glad you haven't."

He was just repeating what he'd heard McGonagall tell another student several days prior. He was glad he remembered it, otherwise his mind would have been quite blank as he tried to come up with a suitable response that she obviously expected.

It worked.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione gave him a watery smile and turned away hurriedly.

He watched her leave the room, glad it was over. Hermione was difficult to understand. She sympathized with everyone's pain, even grieved with them, but it couldn't be denied that the war had not touched her the way it had touched everyone else. Here she was, Harry thought bitterly, feeling guilty because she hadn't been in the middle of it. I'd like to exchange one of her relatives for --

He jumped up from the chair, not letting his thought complete.

Things were spiraling out of control. He needed to get away. He needed to get his thoughts back in order.

He pushed past the small crowd of students coming through the portrait hole, and hurried down the corridor.

It was the same as always. He had barely reached the stairs when he noticed Lupin watching him from the doorway of his office. In the library he ran into McGonagall, who threw sharp glances his way as he pretended to browse through a shelf of Herbology books. He didn't bother trying to get lost in the maze of hallways on the fourth and fifth floors, as he had already tried this and had run into Dumbledore before the end of an hour. Dumbledore had not even bothered to pretend the meeting had been accidental; they both knew otherwise. The towers and turrets were out of the question; he didn't want to even think of the consequences should he be found in one. Most of the unoccupied rooms on the sixth and seventh floors were no good for the same reason.

He returned to the Gryffindor common room, more frustrated than ever, and more determined than ever to follow through with his plan.

He wished he could go up to his dormitory, throw his Invisibility Cloak over himself, and just tune everything out.

Perhaps for this very reason, his Cloak was no longer in his possession, missing along with the Marauder's Map and several other items. He had never asked, and no one mentioned it.

He had to settle for studying in a corner. No one attempted to talk to him, and without Ron there he was undisturbed until late that night, when Hermione had reappeared with more news.

It was difficult not to let it be seen that he was secretly pleased upon hearing that Ron would not be coming back for several days. Hermione had more classes than he did, and spent a lot of time studying in the library. With Ron away, Harry could expect to be left alone much more than usual.

It was probably best that he got this unexpected reprieve, because two days later the second part of his plan was literally handed to him in the form of a chapter on security spells in his Charms textbook.

It was all very well to try to anger Snape in class, but he would have to do it repeatedly for the desired effect, since Snape would take points before assigning detention. Spilling a potion or generally making a mess would be unlikely to result in detention, although he would be expected to clean it up and could buy some time that way. No, to receive a full week he had to take more drastic steps.

He waited, knowing that timing would be crucial.

He made it through Ron's return, which had not been difficult since Ron was too busy talking and everyone else was too busy listening to him to notice any odd behavior on Harry's part.

Finally, it was time to act.

"I have to see Snape after class," he told Ron and Hermione as they were gathering their things.

"What does he want now?" Hermione asked, while Ron just rolled his eyes to indicate he thought it was a stupid question.

Harry just shrugged, not wanting to make up another lie that might catch up with him eventually.

He watched them leave, but instead of remaining behind he slipped out into the corridor. He made sure that no one saw him, and headed for Snape's office.

He knew that Snape would be along soon, to store any left over ingredients and to put away his books, since this had been his last class.

Once inside the office, Harry sat down and waited. He didn't have to wait long before he heard Snape's footsteps in the corridor outside.

He got into position, and held his breath as the doorknob turned.

"Potter!" Snape exclaimed, blinking in momentary confusion and almost immediate anger.

"I was... that is..." Harry stammered, taking a step backwards and bumping into a chair.

"Explain yourself!" Snape barked.

"I was just going to..." Harry looked around wildly, then noticed the wand in his hand and quickly hid it in his robes. "I was coming to see you..."

"Is that so?" Snape asked in a suddenly low and cold voice. His eyes narrowed as he looked from Harry to his storage cabinet, in front of which Harry stood, and back again.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Empty your pockets, Potter," Snape said in the same low, dangerous voice.

Harry hesitated, but only until Snape's eyes narrowed into slits and he took a threatening step forward.

Harry turned out the pockets of his robes, depositing the contents on Snape's desk.

Snape stepped up to the desk and examined them, his eyes passing over Harry's wand, a packet of Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and a piece of blank parchment, before stopping on the small leather-bound book. He picked it up.

"_Wizard Security: A Guide to Shields and Wards_," Snape read from the title page, then snapped the book shut and raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "Now what could you possibly want with this book, Potter?"

"I... uh..." Harry stuttered as he searched for words. "I was just..."

"I think we had better pay a visit to Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter," Snape's voice was the same, but he frowned slightly as he said this.

Harry shook his head mutely, took a few deep breaths as if gathering courage, and finally made a real effort to explain himself.

"Professor, I was reading that book for my Charms essay! We're studying security spells right now."

"Indeed?" Snape didn't look convinced. "And what is this book -- and you -- doing in my office?"

"I wanted to see you about..." he paused just long enough, "... my grades!"

"Your... grades... Mr. Potter?" Snape repeated. "I don't recall you ever worrying about your grades before."

Harry stayed silent and waited. He could see Snape's frustration building. If there was one thing Snape could not stand, it was knowing a student was up to no good, but not being able to prove it to the Headmaster's satisfaction.

"I believe the rules are clear, Potter," Snape continued, having found something he could charge Harry with. "You are not to enter my office in my absence."

"Sorry, sir, I forgot."

"You did no such thing," Snape disagreed, his eyes not breaking contact with Harry's. "Fifty points from..."

He stopped, because the corner of Harry's mouth had twitched in what could only be a suppressed relieved smile.

Snape frowned. "I believe detention is more appropriate in this case, Mr. Potter, than mere points."

He studied Harry for a long moment. Perhaps something on Harry's face gave him away, because suddenly Snape's eyes flashed. Harry shifted uncomfortably. Snape had an uncanny ability to see through deception.

"You will serve your detention tomorrow after dinner," Snape said, abruptly breaking eye contact and assuming an impassive expression. "You may go."

It was Harry's turn to frown. Somehow his plan had gone wrong. This should have been worth a week at the least. Certainly not a single night.

He collected his things, hesitating slightly before taking the book from Snape's outstretched hand. He left the office, aware that Snape was following his every move until he disappeared up the staircase.

Minutes later, Harry collapsed on his bed.

He had taken a gamble, and Snape had not taken the bait. He went over the scene again in his mind. How easily he could have ended up in Dumbledore's office! He certainly hadn't been rewarded for his trouble. Now Snape was even more suspicious of him.

Worse yet, he still had the same problem he had started with. He was reminded of this when Ron came to find him, and he was obliged to go down to the common room.

At dinner that night Harry was relieved to see that none of the other staff seemed to look at him more than usual. Snape, however, barely took his eyes off him. The same scene repeated at meals the following day.

When the time came for Harry to serve detention, he found that he was looking forward to it more than he expected. One night was better than nothing. Ron had been especially talkative that day, having received an owl from home. Dumbledore had stopped him in the corridor after lunch; something that Harry had come to loathe. Dumbledore was harder to deceive than anyone. Harry never quite believed Dumbledore fell for his act. It was just a matter of not giving him a reason to act on his concerns. He really needed a night away from all of that.

That's why it was such a shock to walk into the Potions classroom and see Draco Malfoy reading at one of the desks.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy turned to face him, his book falling shut, but didn't answer him.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Harry demanded. Certainly Malfoy could not be serving detention. He looked far too comfortable. Even Slytherins did not enjoy detentions with Snape.

"If you must know," Malfoy smirked, and started leafing through his book to find his place, "I'm studying with Professor Snape."

"Studying?" Harry repeated.

"As in _study group_," Malfoy said, looking at him with contempt, and then proceeded to ignore him.

Snape came in, and assigned Harry the unenviable task of peeling a large bowl of shrivelfigs. Harry did so in silence while Snape graded essays and threw him occasional black looks. Finally, Snape finished and left the room, presumably to take the essays to his office.

"Since when are you in a study group?" Harry demanded, turning to Malfoy again.

Malfoy tore his eyes from his book and glared at Harry.

"If you must know, I've been in it since Third Year." He frowned, and added, "with Parkinson and Zabini."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were no longer at Hogwarts.

"Snape tutors students on the side? That's hardly fair, if it's only offered to Slytherins."

"Just me now," Malfoy said, scowling at him. "And what do you care?"

"I don't," Harry said, returning to his work. Then he looked back. "That doesn't look like a Potions book, Malfoy."

Malfoy smirked, then gave him a smug smile. "Apparently I don't require any more help in Potions just now."

Harry looked him over suspiciously as Malfoy returned to his reading.

"Don't you have your dormitory to yourself? You could read there."

Malfoy looked sourly over the top of his book. "I had to move in with the Sixth Years."

"Oh," Harry didn't know what else to say about that.

"Yeah, it stinks," Malfoy said, sighing.

Harry snuck another look at him. "Don't you miss your friends?"

He knew that many Slytherins had chosen not to return to school, or had to relocate to live with relatives. As far as he knew, only a handful had actually joined the Death Eaters and were killed or imprisoned.

"Don't you miss yours?" Malfoy countered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded. "My friends are still here."

"The way you avoid them, it hardly makes a difference."

Harry whipped around to face Malfoy, letting a shrivelfig fall to the floor. "What are you talking about?"

Malfoy just raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Potter," Snape's cold voice said from the doorway, "kindly pick up that shrivelfig and return to work. I did not assign you detention so you could socialize."

Malfoy looked visibly disgusted by the implication that he had been socializing with Harry. He might have spoken up, had he not caught a glimpse of Snape's glare.

With Snape scowling at him from the other side of the room, and Malfoy glaring occasionally over his book as if to make up for his earlier lapse, Harry finished with the shrivelfigs faster than he had intended.

Still, as he walked back into the noisy common room, he had to admit that spending time with Snape and Malfoy had been far easier than spending time with his friends.

Hermione caught him by the arm and steered him toward a table where Ron, Fred, and George were already gathered. Harry prepared himself for another discussion of Weasley tragedies. It was one of the topics that he found especially unbearable. Hermione and Ron were prone to getting misty-eyed and expecting him to either do the same or lend comfort, while Fred and George made weak attempts at jokes that grated on Harry's nerves.

How unhappy can they be, Harry thought as he listened to Fred recalling how his father had once charmed a Muggle toaster with bizarre results, if they can joke like that. He himself had to suppress all memories, pleasant or otherwise, because there was nothing but pain to be gained by remembering. The closest he had ever come to breaking down had been the day he picked up _Quidditch Through The Ages_ and a picture of Sirius fell out, forcing him to remember the day he had taken it, borrowing Colin Creevey's camera.

His head ached. He couldn't say anything, because any physical ailment was cause for immediate concern to his friends. They would drag him down to the infirmary, where no doubt half the staff would descend on him. He had to force himself to pay attention to what they were saying, and to reply at the proper places.

Finally they let him go.

He stumbled up to the dormitory, and fell into bed. Sleep escaped him, though at first it was a relief to be able to close his eyes, and as always, in the darkness behind his eyelids, it was all he could do to keep his mind from betraying him. He struggled to keep his thoughts from straying, but wondering all the while how long he could keep up the charade.

How absurd it was, that even after Voldemort's defeat, The Boy Who Lived still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He wanted to rest.

He... Just... Wanted... To... Rest...

But he had learned that true rest was reserved for those lying beneath the frozen ground. That was not within his grasp. He was expected to live, and he would. There was still happiness in the world, and someone should have it, even if he never could.

He was not a saint, not a martyr. He simply saw what was in front of him. The world still needed him. They still cared what happened to him, long after he stopped. He might be as good as dead already, but it was his physical death that would be a painful blow to many in the Wizarding World.

He didn't know why it mattered to him. He was so frozen inside that it was a contradiction that he should care about those around him. But it was not with his heart that he believed this; it was with his mind, which remained as keenly aware as ever. And in his mind, he accepted his role.

In different circumstances, it would have been easy for him to sleepwalk through his existence. What was expected of him was within his ability to perform. It was the people who made it difficult. They still cared about him, and still believed that things could return to the way they had been. If he didn't have to face them, if they didn't care if he spoke or stayed silent, then he could go on. They were the reason he was on the verge of collapse. They demanded too much.

To think he had ridiculed Snape all these years! What a relief it would be to silence those around him with a glare. To be so cold and uninviting that no one in their right mind would talk to him without due cause. To stay in the dark, somber dungeons where few people ventured, and where the shadows were thick enough to hide him from prying eyes.

Snape had it right all along. 


	7. Borrowed Time

In the morning his head still ached and he felt more tired than he had when he went to bed.

Fortunately, Hermione was busy helping Ron with some last minute homework he had been forced to make up, so Harry was left to himself.

His eyes wandered around the Great Hall.

Things had changed in the short amount of time since classes resumed. Setting aside the visible absence of many students, things were close to the way they had been at the start of the year. The students were no longer afraid to talk above a hushed tone, to laugh, to joke, to make plans for afternoon activities. Even Ron was more like his old self now, seeming to forget at times just how much he had to be sorrowful about.

Why shouldn't they go on with their lives? They had lives to go on with! They had families, homes, friends... while everything he had, even the home the Dursleys had provided, was gone. While they were rebuilding, all he had now, all he would ever have, was the rubble around him.

There seemed to be only one other person as silent and solitary as himself.

Malfoy must be really enjoying that book, Harry thought as he caught sight of Malfoy, who was ignoring the plate of food in front of him, and was almost entirely hidden behind the thick tome he was reading.

That reminded him.

There was a chance that he might be spending some quality time with Malfoy and Snape again.

Of course, there was no point trying to fool Snape again. It was impossible to predict what his reaction might be if Harry attempted another stunt like the previous night, but Harry was convinced that the desired effect would not be achieved. The only way now was to go over Snape's head.

He couldn't go to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would very likely talk him to death, and would probably be of no help to him anyway. No, it had to be someone more approachable. Someone like the Head of his House.

Professor McGonagall was a strict and shrewd woman, but she had a weakness in that she expected her pupils to strive to learn as much as they could. It showed in the fact that she expected perfection in her class, encouraged students to utilize the library, and praised those who spent extra time on their studies.

There was nothing inherently suspicious in what he was about to ask her, except of course that it involved Snape.

"Professor McGonagall!" he called, catching up with her as she left the Great Hall.

She turned around, surprised to see him. It was very rare that he initialized conversation with anyone; a fact that had not escaped her notice. "What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"

"Well," he began, knowing that a lot of groundwork was necessary before he could spring his request. "I wanted to discuss my grades with you, Professor."

She looked visibly surprised. Harry's grades were quite good; an inevitable result of all the time he spent studying.

"I see," she said. "Why don't we go up to my office?"

A short time later Harry found himself in McGonagall's prim office. She settled behind her desk and motioned for him to sit down.

"I know my grades are pretty good," Harry explained, "but there are still some areas where I'm doing very poorly. Studying on my own just isn't helping."

He watched her face for signs that his story was being accepted so far, then continued.

"I joined a study group to help me with History, and I'm doing much better now. But, I don't know what to do about Potions..."

He stopped, because McGonagall's mouth twitched slightly. He wondered if this plan would go any better than his last. McGonagall would have no qualms about taking him up to see Dumbledore, and this time he had no contingency plan.

McGonagall gave no further indication of suspicion, so he plunged ahead.

"We aren't allowed to make any potions outside of the classrooms, so it's very difficult to learn out of books." He finished off with a small helpless shrug.

McGonagall frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know how I can be of help, Mr. Potter. Potions is not my department."

"I realize that, Professor," Harry said. "Actually I had an idea. Professor Snape" -- Harry avoided McGonagall's eyes as he said this -- "has a study group for some of the students in his House. Only now I think it's just Draco Malfoy left. I was thinking maybe I could join."

"Did you ask Professor Snape if you could?"

"No..." Harry shook his head. "But I did ask him what I could do to improve my grades, and he said I didn't have an aptitude for Potions." He smiled inwardly when McGonagall frowned at this. And it was no lie, Snape really had said it on many occasions. "I don't think it's fair, Professor. I wouldn't be taking up his time, since the group already exists."

"Say no more," McGonagall said huffily. "I will speak with Professor Snape about this."

"Thank you," Harry said as she saw him out of her office and headed in the direction of the staffroom.

He went up to the common room to collect his books for his morning classes.

It was not over by far, because Snape's reaction to McGonagall's interference was yet to be seen.

Actually, it was pretty much a given that Snape would be livid, but that was not a primary concern. Snape was always livid about one thing or another, especially when dealing with Harry. He didn't care if Snape was unhappy with the arrangement, just as long as Snape couldn't prove he was up to something.

He didn't have to wait long to find out what Snape thought of his plot. Over lunch, Snape fixed him with a look that made him grateful wandless magic was weak and unfocused; it was a look that could have melted steel.

It did, however, offer tentative proof of McGonagall's success.

It seemed that he would have to endure Snape's black looks for a number of meals, as he did not have Potions until the following day. He was sorry, because as the day wore on, his headache became a dull throbbing in his temples, and the pressure building up behind his eyes caused slight double vision.

He was definitely coming down with something, he thought as he collapsed into bed that night. In all likelihood it was related to the stress he was under.

For once he was not haunted by either heavy thoughts or dreams. His physical discomfort prevented it.

When he woke up the following morning, Harry felt worse than he had the night before. His head still ached and felt as though it were stuffed full of cotton, the throbbing in his temples had escalated into a heavy pounding, and his vision blurred. He barely made it down to the Great Hall for breakfast, having become dizzy on the steep staircase and almost falling head first the rest of the way down.

Snape, appearing out of nowhere behind him, had caught him by the upper arm, which now felt bruised and sore.

Most likely Snape had assumed he had done it on purpose.

He choked down as much breakfast as he could, and headed for his first class.

He barely heard a word anyone said all day. By the time his first afternoon class ended, he would have been glad to crawl to Madam Pomfrey and beg for something to ease the pain.

Instead, he stumbled down the dungeon stairs and took his usual place in the Potions classroom. He watched Snape write something on the board, but couldn't focus on the letters. He vaguely recognized the potion they were supposed to be making, but by the time he had managed to prepare his ingredients, class was over.

"Mr. Potter, you will stay behind," Snape said over the noise of students exiting the classroom.

Here it was, the thing he had been waiting for all day, and the reason he wouldn't have missed Potions even if it caused his head to split open. Which, just then, seemed quite possible.

Snape waited until the room emptied.

"Do you intend to finish that potion, Mr. Potter?"

Harry got up out of his seat, intending to empty his tray of chopped and powdered ingredients into his boiling cauldron.

The room spun wildly.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the chair behind Snape's desk, and Snape was forcing a vile-tasting potion down his throat.

His head cleared. Snape's face came into focus.

Snape took a step back and sniffed in contempt. "If you were feeling ill, Potter, the proper place for you was the infirmary."

Harry didn't answer. He still felt shaky. Instead, he studied Snape's face, where the last traces of what may have been concern were quickly being replaced by his usual cold composure.

"Shall I escort you to the hospital wing?" Snape asked patronizingly.

Harry shook his head, wincing as the headache kicked in again. "It's just a headache."

Snape shot him a piercing look, but went over to a cabinet and rummaged around, finally producing a small bottle.

"Take two drops with a glass of water."

Harry took it, and looked closely at the yellowish liquid inside. Something was floating in it. It looked like one of Snape's grotesque pickled creatures that he had around his office. He shuddered and looked up at Snape, and found that Snape had produced a glass of water and was holding it out to him. The look on Snape's face was almost smug.

Harry measured out two drops and watched them swirl around in the water, not quite mixing. As nauseating as the mixture looked, he forced himself to bring the glass to his lips and drink it in as few gulps as humanly possible.

It tasted worse than it looked. He screwed up his face in disgust.

He knew he didn't imagine the smile on Snape's face as he took the glass out of Harry's hand, but when Snape turned back, his expression was again cold.

"I suggest you return to your common room," he said. "You will have plenty of time tonight to clean up the mess you have made of my classroom."

Harry followed Snape's gaze, and saw that a large section of the floor was littered with the ingredients he had spilled.

Harry suddenly realized what Snape had said. He looked up at Snape, and found that Snape was staring at him, waiting for a response.

"Yes sir," he said meekly.

Snape made a noise resembling a snort, and turned away from him.

Harry gathered up his things, shaking dried nettles off his bag.

In the hallway outside he breathed a big sigh of relief. He had avoided Madam Pomfrey, unless Snape decided to go and tell her of his collapse, and he would no longer have to spend half the day listening to his friends' chatter and pretend that he cared enough to pay attention.

He emerged in the entrance hall and found Hermione and Ron waiting for him.

"Finally!" Ron exclaimed, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. "I thought the greasy git was going to make you miss dinner."

Harry noticed that it was, in fact, dinner time. He began to wonder just how long it had taken Snape to revive him. No wonder Snape had given him such a dirty look when Harry claimed it was just a headache.

That thought was interrupted with the sudden realization that he would have to tell his friends something about where he would be going after dinner each day. He shuddered, thinking what their reaction would be if he told them he had voluntarily joined a study group Snape presided over.

At least his headache had actually gone away.

By the time desert was served, he still hadn't come up with a good story, and he was getting desperate. In another few minutes, Ron and Hermione would be trying to drag him toward the common room, no doubt with one of their cheering-up plans in mind.

There was a lull in conversation, and he decided he better get it over with.

"I need to tell you something," he said, turning toward his friends.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, the concern returning to her face, as it often did now when she looked at him.

"I had to join a study group for Potions," Harry said, trying to look as if the idea was repulsive to him.

There was a short, stunned silence.

"What?!" Ron asked. "You mean that's what Snape wanted you to stay behind for?"

"Uh... no. Not exactly. Actually the study group is after dinner."

"How often?" Ron asked.

"Every day."

Ron stared at him speechlessly.

"Is it the same group he started in Third Year for the Slytherins?" Hermione asked.

"Yes."

"You have to study with _Slytherins?_" Ron demanded, his eyes bulging.

"Just one. Malfoy," Harry admitted reluctantly.

Ron's mouth fell open.

Hermione frowned. "I didn't think Snape would allow a Gryffindor to join."

"Why?" Ron demanded. "Did you try?"

"Well, why not?" Hermione said defensively, flushing.

"It wasn't Snape's idea," Harry interrupted. He made a noncommittal gesture in the direction of the staff table.

"Oh," Ron said, taking the bait. "That really stinks."

Hermione just frowned again.

Dinner ended, and Harry parted with his friends, trying to look wretched, but in reality glad to get out from under Hermione's scrutinizing look.

He took a deep breath, and started down the dungeon stairs. 


	8. First Sign

Snape was not in the room when Harry walked in. Draco Malfoy, however, glared at him from a desk in the corner.

Harry decided he might as well get started. He began sweeping up the spilled ingredients. He could feel Malfoy watching him, probably enjoying seeing him crawling on the dirty floor.

Snape came in, but ignored Harry entirely, sitting down behind his desk and opening a large leather-bound book.

Finally, the last of the dried nettles and sliced caterpillars were deposited in the rubbish bin, and the desk scrubbed. Harry put down the brush and looked around, wondering what he was supposed to do next.

"You may as well scrub them all," Snape said, without taking his eyes from his book.

Harry scrubbed. There weren't that many desks in the room now, but it was still a lot of work. He didn't mind it, because after all, he did prefer to be scrubbing desks in the Potions classroom to being up in the Gryffindor common room doing anything at all. Only it annoyed him to see Malfoy looking so smug when Harry got to his desk.

Malfoy's desk was the last one. Harry looked toward the front of the room, wondering if Snape was going to make him scrub the floor next.

Snape put down his book abruptly, making Harry jump. "I suppose you expect me to teach you something," he said, his tone accusing.

Harry would have been happy to tell him that he preferred to sit quietly at the back of the room and be ignored, but Snape didn't give him the chance.

"Take out your book. You will complete the potion you failed to finish this afternoon."

Harry went to retrieve his book, while Malfoy smirked.

"You too, Mr. Malfoy," Snape told him. "I seem to recall your potion turned a ghastly shade of orange."

Malfoy stared at him, looking stunned. "But I don't have my book with me!"

"Share Potter's," Snape said, shrugging dismissively.

It was a very vengeful looking Malfoy who joined Harry at one of the front-row desks. Harry hoped Malfoy was not going to try to hex him with Snape in the room. Although, on second thought, Snape was an unlikely deterrent.

Malfoy made no such attempt, but lost none of his furious expression as they sliced and grated, mixed and stirred. Finally they each had a cauldron full of a viscous scarlet potion.

Snape came over and with a look of great distaste checked their work.

"Fine," he admitted. "Mr. Potter will clean up. You," he said, turning to Malfoy, "may return to your seat."

Malfoy leered triumphantly at Harry as Snape turned his back on them. Harry stared after him as Malfoy returned to his desk and picked up his book.

"Now, if you please, Mr. Potter," Snape said, looking at him coldly.

Harry sighed and began to clear both his own and Malfoy's place.

He finished, and waited for further instructions, but if Snape noticed, he ignored him.

Harry sat down at his desk and took out his History book, deciding he might as well begin studying.

On the other side of the room, Malfoy stretched, got up, and put away his book. He went up to Snape's desk and they began a conversation in low voices.

Catching Harry's stare, Snape gave him another dark look and motioned for Malfoy to follow him out of the room.

Harry was left alone, which is what he had wanted in the first place, but inexplicably it irritated him. He tried to bury those thoughts by focusing on what he was reading, but his concentration had been broken.

Snape came back, alone, a short while later. Having nothing better to do, Harry watched him as he made his way around the room reorganizing the jars of ingredients on shelves.

Snape noticed this, seemingly through the back of his head.

"You can leave," he said, without turning around.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape continued.

"Or you can sit there. Only do so in a less obtrusive way."

Harry buried his head in the History book again, but couldn't resist glaring at Snape's back, just once.

This time Snape did turn around, and rewarded him with a similar expression.

After that, Harry avoided looking in Snape's direction.

Time passed slowly, but that's how he wanted it. The longer he stayed in the dungeons, the less time would be left for his friends to grill him about it when he returned to Gryffindor Tower.

Snape didn't speak again, Malfoy did not return, and Harry relaxed somewhat. He even made some headway on a difficult assignment.

A half hour before he intended to leave the dungeon, the classroom door opened and Professor Lupin walked in.

"Harry, Severus," he said, looking from one to the other. "Am I interrupting?"

Snape looked up, his expression an answer in itself.

Lupin waited another few moments for a response, and when he didn't get one he turned to Harry. "Harry, would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I need to speak with Professor Snape."

"Sure, Professor," Harry said, putting down his book and sliding out of his chair.

"No," Snape interrupted, rising himself. "We can talk in my office."

"Suit yourself," Lupin said, shrugging, and went ahead of him out into the corridor.

They didn't return.

Harry waited, not wanting to leave before Snape came back, in case Snape expected anything else of him, but when a half hour turned into an hour, he decided he needed to return to Gryffindor Tower unless he wanted to chance being caught by Filch on the way back.

As soon as he opened the door he could hear the arguing. The exact words were not distinguishable, but it was obvious that Snape and Lupin were at each other's throats in Snape's office.

Suddenly the door flew open.

"Fine! Be a selfish, cold -- "

Lupin stepped out of the office, and his eyes fell on Harry. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Lupin so furious.

"Harry, you're still here." Lupin's voice was strained as he seemed to struggle to control his temper. "If you're going upstairs, I will accompany you," he continued in a voice that was nearly, but not quite, steady.

They went, but Harry couldn't help glancing back.

Snape was glaring at the two of them from his office doorway. His arms were folded across his chest, and his eyes blazed angrily. When their eyes met, a shadow seemed to cross Snape's face, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What was that about, Professor?" Harry couldn't help asking when they reached the entrance hall.

Lupin considered for a moment.

"It's a private matter between myself and Professor Snape, Harry," he said, and then changed the subject.

Upstairs, Harry found the common room nearly empty, and went directly up to the dormitory.

Finding Ron already asleep, he changed and climbed into bed, still wondering what could have upset Lupin so much. 


	9. Drowning

Harry quickly fell into his new routine.

It was easier now that he only had to play the part of the attentive friend during meals and in the short period of time between his last afternoon class and the end of the dinner hour. He could feel his friends' suspicions diminish day by day.

He had a good excuse for studying immediately after classes, rather than after dinner as usual, since his friends believed Harry spent his after-dinner hours being Snape's slave.

At the same time, he felt their friendship unraveling. It was only natural that the less time he spent with Ron and Hermione the less aware he was of what was going on in their lives. He found himself not understanding their jokes, being left out of their conversations, and even being left to study alone in the common room while they pursued their own interests. They were no longer adamant about dragging him along wherever they went.

He was glad, he thought. On some level, the realization that they were drifting apart a little more each day bothered him. But mostly, he was grateful to be left alone. With the number of daily reminders of his life before the war lessened, Harry was less and less frequently plagued by the memories. There came a time when he realized that several nights had gone by free of the nightmares that in the past had him waking drenched with sweat and shaken to the core. It was no longer a daily struggle to slip into his disguise.

For the first few weeks, just the relief of being left to himself was enough, but the more he withdrew, the more he liked it, and the more difficult it was to return upstairs.

That's how he started to think of it -- there was the upstairs and the downstairs, and when he was upstairs all he wanted was to return to the dungeons. The few hours after dinner were no longer enough. He wanted, more than anything, to cut out any activity he could which forced him to spend time with his peers.

He presented himself in front of McGonagall one day, quaking inside because he knew she would give him grief once he told her what he was going to do.

"I would like to leave the Quidditch team."

She stared at him, looking like she hadn't understood.

"I mean," Harry continued quickly, "it isn't something I enjoy doing anymore. There are other people who should have a chance to play and who would appreciate the opportunity much more than me."

He expected her to argue with him, but after a long silence she nodded. "Inform the team captain. I will arrange for tryouts to take place this weekend. If we are able to find a replacement in time for the next match..."

"Thank you," Harry said, seeing a dangerous look enter her eyes. He didn't want to give her a chance to start asking him questions. As it was, she would no doubt be speaking to Dumbledore about him.

She nodded again and waved her hand toward the door, dismissing him.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No Quidditch meant an end to early morning practices. It meant he didn't have to spend time with Ron, who was on the team that year, or Fred and George, who seemed to have got it into their heads that Harry needed cheering up.

Without Quidditch, Harry was even more isolated. The team had been one of the last things he'd had in common with Ron, and even setting aside Ron's anger about Harry leaving, Harry found their friendship losing even more ground.

Outside, the sun began to warm the ground, the snow melted, and everywhere there were signs of spring. Harry watched the change through eyes deadened to the world's remarkable ability to renew itself.

He had done such a good job of isolating himself that it was no longer necessary to make elaborate plans for avoiding his friends, or to fear running into Dumbledore in the halls. These things had lost the power they had held over him. He could get through entire conversations now without really hearing a word that was said, and make the necessary responses without conscious thought. He went to meals and classes, he studied, he smiled where appropriate and looked sad when it was expected. When had it ever been difficult to do these things? He no longer cared if he was watched, but as he made fewer and fewer mistakes it seemed that he had placated even Dumbledore. Only Lupin continued his relentless pursuit, trying to draw him into conversations riddled with psychological traps he had become immune to. As long as he could hurry down the dungeon stairs every evening, and spend the hours before curfew away from their prying eyes, he felt he could handle anything. He finally felt he was in no danger of breaking down.

The time he spent in the dungeons was a waking sleep, when his senses dulled and conscious thought departed. Snape had long before conceded to leave him in peace for the duration of their time together. Harry found the dungeons to be the only place where none of the noise of daily life encroached on his solitude.

Night after night he sought out the stagnant semi-darkness, where expressions of any kind were unnecessary. Alone and undisturbed, he allowed himself to dissolve into the shadows.

On one particular day he was held up by McGonagall, and arrived in the dungeons a quarter hour late. He knew immediately that Lupin had chosen that day to seek Snape out. It had become almost routine; at least once a week he would come down to the dungeons, demand a word with Snape, and minutes later they could be heard arguing in Snape's office. Nothing ever seemed to come of it, save for the cryptic looks Snape sometimes cast his way afterwards.

Malfoy was leaning against the door frame of the classroom, scowling in the direction of the office. Harry paused, unable to squeeze past Malfoy and forced to stand and listen to the indistinct words filtering through the closed door down the corridor.

Malfoy's head swiveled slowly around until their eyes met.

"They're talking about you, you know."

"So I gathered," Harry replied dryly.

Malfoy gave him a long look, but said nothing further.

"I have your book," Harry told him, pulling it from his bag.

His relationship with Malfoy had become complicated. Neither one seemed to have the energy to continue the pointless bickering that had once permeated their every meeting. Without anyone around to appreciate the sarcastic and callous remarks they exchanged, the game grew tiresome. Now they alternated between ignoring each other, each lost in his own lonesomeness, and what could pass for civil conversation.

The office door opened, and they both stepped into the classroom to avoid being seen. A few moments later Lupin stalked past the doorway in the direction of the staircase.

Malfoy took his seat, in the back row near the door, and Harry headed for his, at the front of the room. Before he could get there, Snape swept into the room.

"Out," he said, giving Malfoy a look that arrested any response.

Malfoy was out the door before Snape had made it half way across the room, but not before giving Harry an angry glare, clearly blaming him for the sudden expulsion.

Harry had sat down, and now Snape approached him, slowly, deliberately, his expression unreadable. When he was directly in front of Harry he put both hands down on the desk and leaned in.

"You've spent enough time here. It's time for you to leave."

Harry stared at him, not understanding. Snape was looking right into his eyes, with those black eyes that seemed to pierce deeper than even Dumbledore's were capable of. For the first time in a while he felt unnerved, as if Snape had found a weakness in his defenses and could peer inside.

"I know what you're doing. I've known all along, but didn't stop you. It's time I did."

"What am I doing?" Harry challenged him.

"How do you feel when you're here?" Snape asked, answering a question with a question.

"I feel..." Harry had to think before he could find the words. "I feel like I'm floating. It's dark, and comfortable."

"You're drowning," Snape said matter-of-factly.

Harry frowned. "Not true. I feel peaceful. Up there" -- He made a motion toward the ceiling -- "I have to think, and talk to people when I would rather not. Here I can just... be."

"And it's easier to go back, afterward?"

"Yes..."

"Is it because each time you emerge, you find those around you just a little more distant?"

Harry had considered it, and been glad of it. Hearing it from Snape, however, was disconcerting.

"What does it matter?" he asked, determined not to let Snape see the effect his words were having.

"One day, you will find they have moved on, leaving you to rot in this dark pit you find so comfortable now."

"I don't care," Harry said, glaring at him.

Instead of returning the glare, Snape looked at him pityingly. "By the time you wake up and do care, it will be too late."

Harry found himself laughing. Could anyone think he would 'wake up' and be normal again? He must be more convincing than he had ever hoped to be, if they thought he was just in the process of normal grief.

Snape was studying him, and Harry's laughter died away.

"What do you know about what I'm feeling?" Harry demanded, suddenly angry at the man who presumed to tell him what to do with what remained of his life.

"I know that you would rather freeze than feel. I know that by now, even when you try to feel, you can't," Snape replied calmly.

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, to say that if he allowed himself to feel the pain would overwhelm him, but realized suddenly that Snape had hit on the truth. The things that had caused pain were empty of it now. He couldn't recall the last time any emotion had pushed the limits of his endurance.

"I can feel," he finally said. "I'm angry right now, aren't I?"

"Anger is easy," Snape said. "Try another."

Harry glared at him.

Snape straightened up, shaking his head.

"Leave. Crawl toward the light and hope there's still someone around to pull you the rest of the way up."

He turned away, not waiting for Harry to comply.

"Wait!" Harry stopped him.

Snape stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Why should I?" Harry demanded. "You obviously didn't. I can see what you're trying to do -- you're telling me not to do what you did. But you stayed down here. What right do you have to tell me I can't?"

Snape turned to face him.

"Do you want to be like me?"

"Everyone leaves you alone," Harry countered.

"Yes," Snape said, smirking.

"That's what I want," Harry said firmly.

Snape looked at him for a prolonged moment, then turned away.

"Get out."

This time he did not stop, but walked out of the room, and the torches snuffed out behind him, leaving Harry alone in the darkness. 


	10. Out of Touch

"So you just threw him out! That was your solution?"

Harry paused at the end of the hallway when he heard Lupin's angry voice coming from around the corner.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Snape answered calmly.

"No!" Lupin snarled. "I told you he couldn't keep hiding down there. I asked you to talk to him."

"He won't be hiding any longer, will he?" Snape said. "As for talking to him, I think that's best left to those whose opinions matter to him."

"Who would that be?" Lupin demanded. "You are the only one he doesn't freeze out. Don't ask me why, it's beyond my understanding. You've never shown him a moment's kindness, but he's seeking comfort from you."

"He prefers my company because I leave him in peace, not because I offer comfort."

"It doesn't matter why. What matters is that you have a responsibility to try to reach him, and instead you've cast him out."

"I have no such responsibility."

"You do!" Lupin's voice rose angrily again. "You are all he has left. The holidays are coming up. Will you really leave him in the hands of the Ministry? Where do you think they will place him?"

Around the corner, Harry shivered involuntarily. That was something that had been bothering him for a while, and now only a week remained before the summer holidays. He told himself he didn't care what happened to him, but he was finding he cared more than he could admit.

"I'm sure they will select a suitable guardian," Snape said.

Lupin snorted at the suggestion, but Snape continued, ignoring him.

"I'm sure if you bothered to ask the boy for his opinion, he would leave you with no doubts he does not wish to spend his summer with me..." Snape paused, "... and Draco."

"Draco?" Lupin repeated. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Or did you forget that Harry Potter is not the only war orphan we should be concerned about?"

"You would take home Draco _Malfoy_..." -- Lupin struggled with the anger permeating his voice -- "... and leave your own -- "

The rest of the sentence was lost, because at that moment they rounded the corner, and Snape shoved Lupin hard to silence him.

They both stared, dumbfounded, at Harry, who stared back calmly.

"Harry..." Lupin began, but apparently could not think of anything else to say.

"I was just on my way to breakfast," Harry informed them, and walked past them.

He had gone only a few steps when he stopped and turned around.

"I really would rather spend the holidays with you, Professor Snape," he said. "And I'm glad you're taking Malf--Draco with you. The way some of the others treat him is disgusting."

With that, he turned and walked away, not waiting for a response.

When he was out of range, he stopped to catch his breath, which was coming in small gasps.

He didn't care who took him. He didn't!

He sighed. It was a lie.

More people staring at him. Asking him questions. Strangers.

He thought he was finished caring what people around him said or did to him. It was distressing to realize that he was still bothered by it.

What if Dumbledore took him? Or McGonagall? Or any of the other professors? He knew Lupin couldn't, and he was glad of that. Lupin wouldn't give him a moment's peace.

If it was up to the Ministry, what if that fool Fudge, who took such an interest in him, decided it was his duty... Harry shuddered at the thought.

If Snape took him, he could have a whole summer away from... Everything.

He imagined what Snape's home might be like, and visions of dark, cavernous, silent rooms filled his head. Rooms he could lose himself in...

"Harry," Lupin's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

He turned and saw Lupin approaching.

"May I accompany you to breakfast?" Lupin asked, falling into step beside him.

Harry nodded, knowing that his opinion did not matter. Lupin was clearly intent on attempting a conversation with him; he could tell by the way Lupin was nervously running his fingers through his hair.

"Look Harry," Lupin began, "I don't know how much of that you heard..."

Harry gave no indication that he knew what Lupin was talking about.

"And I know you're probably angry with me for interfering," Lupin continued. "I just thought that you were spending too much time alone. You're withdrawing from your friends. You quit Quidditch. I hardly ever hear you speak anymore."

Harry said nothing, though he knew his silence validated Lupin's point.

Lupin sighed. "If you can't talk to me, or to your friends, or to Professor Dumbledore..." He made a helpless wave with his hand. "At least talk to someone. I just want you to talk to _someone_."

"Even Snape?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Lupin gave him a strange look. "Even him. If he can help you..."

They had reached the Great Hall, and Lupin's words were lost in the din.

Exam results had been posted, and everyone crowded around, craning their necks to see over the heads of those in front of them. Harry excused himself and pushed through the crowd. He didn't care about his grades; he just wanted to get away.

He had passed all of his classes. He even had a decent grade in Potions, for once.

He stood staring at the parchment pinned to the wall longer than necessary, feeling rather than seeing that Lupin was still waiting behind him. Finally he saw out of the corner of his eye than Lupin had moved off in the direction of the staff table.

He sat down next to Ron and Hermione, who were having a heated discussion regarding something that happened the previous evening. Harry filled his plate, and didn't interrupt him.

"Harry," Hermione said, seeming to notice him for the first time, "I meant to ask you earlier..." She paused, looking a little fearful.

"What?" Harry asked.

Ron was the one who answered.

"It's just that summer holidays are coming up..."

"And we were wondering where you would be." Hermione finished.

"I really don't know yet," Harry said honestly.

"Oh," Hermione said, swallowing and looking down at her hands. "Sorry."

"I'm sure something will come up," Harry told her, taking a bite from a cinnamon roll.

"How can you be so calm about it?" Ron burst out.

"Do I have a choice?" Harry asked, turning to look at him.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, which did not bother Harry, who was used to it. He ate, hardly noticing that Ron and Hermione did not touch their own plates.

He noticed a list of classes lying next to Hermione's plate.

"Have you decided what classes you'll be taking next year?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

Hermione brightened.

"I have, but Ron is stalling. I'm going to take Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Advanced Transfiguration, Advanced Charms -- "

"In other words every class Hogwarts offers!" Ron put in, grinning and rolling his eyes.

Hermione gave him a push.

"I just want to be sure not to limit myself. I still don't know what I want to do." She sighed unhappily and looked down at the parchment, as though expecting the answer to suddenly come to her if she stared at it long enough.

"I thought you wanted a job in the Muggle Relations Department?" Harry said. That much he had gathered from the few conversations he had not completely tuned out.

"I'm exploring all my options."

"At least you have some ideas," Ron grumbled.

"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know yet," he said, because until that moment it had not occurred to him to think about it, but suddenly he realized that he did know. "Most likely Transfiguration, Defense, and Potions."

Ron sputtered, choking on his orange juice. "_Potions?_"

Harry shrugged, wishing he hadn't said anything. He was saved from having to answer by Dumbledore, who made several announcements.

Most of the professors chose to use the class times following exams to either review old material or to explain what students who continued with their class in Sixth and Seventh year would learn. Harry's attention wandered.

He found himself repeating in his mind the conversation he had overheard that morning. Some of it just didn't make any sense to him. Why had Lupin said that Snape was all Harry had left? If it was that ridiculous debt to his father again... When were people going to let that rest?

He couldn't understand why Lupin was so determined to send him off with Snape for the holidays. He could understand why Snape would take Draco Malfoy, who had always been one of his favored students, but what reason would Snape have for taking him?

He couldn't find any answers, and satisfied himself at last by deciding Lupin simply wanted Harry to be with someone from the school, rather than abandoned to the whims of the Ministry. That seemed likely enough. He forced the conversation out of his mind.

After lunch he found that his afternoon class had been canceled. He had nowhere to go now that he was no longer welcome in the dungeons, and Ron and Hermione seemed full of plans.

"We were going to visit Hagrid," Hermione told him. "He's been asking about you, and we've had to keep telling him you're busy with your study group. I think it would be nice if you --"

"Potter," interrupted a voice from behind.

Ron whirled around. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he demanded.

Malfoy glared at him, but turned to Harry.

"Professor Snape wants to see you in his office, Potter," he said in the cold voice Harry hadn't heard him use in many weeks.

Harry shrugged for the benefit of Ron and Hermione, who looked annoyed at the fact that their first chance to catch up with him was being interrupted. "I'll join you as soon as I can," he told them as he headed for the dungeons staircase, not in the least sorry to be missing out on the visit.

Malfoy followed him, still glaring at him out of the corners of his eyes.

Snape was waiting when Harry came into the office, hands folded on the desk and looking less than welcoming.

"Sit," he commanded.

Harry sat down on one of the rigid chairs in front of the desk.

"After some deliberation, I have decided to extend an invitation for you to spend the summer holidays with me," Snape said, wasting no time getting to the point, and looking sour as he did so.

Harry fought down the sudden urge to tell Snape he wouldn't spend the summer with him for a thousand galleons.

"Thank you," he said instead.

Even if Snape didn't want him, Harry would be better off with him than with anyone the Ministry would appoint to be his guardian. But, he thought angrily, Snape didn't have to be so wretched about it!

"You may go," Snape said, motioning toward the door.

Harry left the office, and ran into Malfoy just outside the door. Malfoy scowled at him, eyes narrowed.

"Anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop?" Harry asked, trying to push past him.

"Did it ever occur to you to consider other people before you ruin their holidays?" Malfoy growled.

"This wasn't my idea," Harry said defensively.

"Liar," Malfoy spat. "Professor Snape told me the only reason you're invited is because you begged to go."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He supposed it was true, although he thought it was more likely that Lupin, or even Dumbledore, had more of a hand in convincing Snape than his own words did.

"It's always about what _you_ want," Malfoy continued angrily. "Everyone is so concerned about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived! Do you even see the way they watch you?"

"I would have to be blind not to," Harry said, pushing down his own anger. He didn't want to be standing in the drafty dungeons corridor, arguing with Draco Malfoy.

"Well, just... Just -- " Malfoy made a frustrated sound, turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Harry staring after him.

Giving the other boy a few minutes' head start, Harry followed him out of the dungeons. Reluctantly, he trudged toward Hagrid's hut.

It took some getting used to, spending so much time with his friends again. It was nowhere near as hard as it used to be, but he missed the heavy, somber atmosphere on the dungeons.

Who was it that Snape thought would pull him into the light? Surely not his friends, so concerned with their summer plans, their romances, their _futures_. He had no part in any of that. They had already left him behind. There was no help to be found here, even if he wanted it.

And Lupin? Lupin had pawned him off to Snape for the summer, apparently giving up on reaching Harry himself. No help coming from that corner either.

Even Dumbledore hadn't attempted to get through to him lately. Dumbledore, who never lost faith or gave up on anyone, had given up on trying to make Harry normal again.

What was he supposed to feel, besides grateful that he wasn't expected to discuss Lavender Brown's new love interest or Lee Jordan's upcoming internship at Wizard Wireless Network?

The world had marched on, as if no one had died, as if no one of any importance was missing from their ranks. And everyone around him was willing to go along with it, to live in it and to go on enjoying it, forgetting what the world had done to them. Just _accepting_ it...

Only Harry was standing still, in his own small corner, where nothing changed and the darkness never lifted. He could never forget, and the emptiness in his life could not be filled by the shallow concerns of his friends.

True to Snape's words, Harry had been left behind. But, he told himself firmly, it was much better this way. 


	11. Leaving Hogwarts

The last week of the school year passed fairly quickly, and finally the day came when Harry found himself standing on the platform in front of a steaming Hogwarts Express.

He was searching the crowd, unsure of where he was supposed to go. His friends had gone on ahead without him.

The crowd thinned as more students boarded the train, and he saw Draco Malfoy sitting on a bench not far from where he was standing.

"Where's Professor Snape?" he asked, walking over to him.

Malfoy looked at him with visible distaste. "He said to wait here."

Harry sat down, and Malfoy shuffled away, pulling his robes closer around himself.

"I'm not contagious," Harry said sarcastically.

Malfoy ignored him.

A few minutes later they were the only ones left on the platform.

"Where is he?" Harry said impatiently, looking around.

"Patience is not one of your virtues, is it Mr. Potter?" Snape's voice asked coldly from behind him.

Next to him, Malfoy smirked. Harry stayed silent.

"Come along," Snape said, striding past them.

They boarded, and Snape led them to an empty compartment in the last car. Malfoy sat down next to Snape, and Harry opposite them, in the corner.

The whistle blew shrilly, and the train began to move, gathering speed as it rolled downhill.

Snape read from an ancient looking book, and Malfoy stared out the window. Harry wished he had thought to brought a book, at least. He should have guessed he would be ignored like this. The peaceful, semi-aware feeling that usually overwhelmed him when he was left to himself refused to come this time. He stared dully out the window at the unchanging scenery that flashed by. Hills, valleys, trees, all exactly alike; a blur of green.

The witch with the food cart opened their compartment door. Harry's mouth watered at the sight of the snacks laid out on the trays. He sighed, remembering that he hadn't been to Gringotts since the start of the year, and had no money.

Snape pulled out a money bag, looking resentful. "Order whatever you want, it's a long trip."

Harry chose Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and pumpkin pasties, before noticing Snape glaring at him.

Looking smug, Malfoy took two cauldron cakes and iced pumpkin juice. Snape ordered the same. Malfoy practically glowed.

Harry studied his Wizards Cards until he knew every word by heart, then returned his gaze to the window.

He was surprised to feel the train slowing down. He knew they were nowhere near London, and he had never known the train to stop anywhere other than Hogsmeade and Kings Cross Station, except for the one time when Dementors had boarded the train back at the start of his Third Year.

Snape stood up and gathered up his cloak and book. Malfoy and Harry followed suit, though Harry noted that Malfoy looked confused, too.

The train halted, and Snape opened the door and led them out into the corridor. They walked through the car and into the next, ignoring the curious stares and whispers they elicited.

"Pssst, Harry!"

Harry turned around and found Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George peering at him from a doorway.

"Are you going with _Snape?_" Ron asked, wide-eyed.

Harry nodded. He suddenly realized that he had never got around to telling his friends where he would be spending the summer. It had been easier to put it off than to face their questions.

"Can we write?" Hermione asked, looking every bit as shocked as Ron.

"Uh... I don't know the address. I'll have to owl you," Harry told her hurriedly, because Snape had turned around and was giving him a deadly glare. He hurried to catch up.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione's high-pitched, anxious voice followed him out of the train car.

They stepped off the train, and it immediately began to move again, momentarily surrounding them by a cloud of steam and dust. When it settled, Harry looked around.

They were standing on a small platform, overgrown with weeds. Even the train tracks were lost in thick grass. The air was balmy and fragrant, and a light breeze played with the hems of their robes. There was not another living creature in sight.

Harry and Malfoy's trunks and Snape's many small crates and boxes stood at the other end of the platform, Hedwig's cage perched precariously on top.

Snape looked around impatiently, an annoyed expression on his face. He fixed his eyes on a spot on the horizon, and Harry squinted in that direction.

There seemed to be a small cloud of dust moving toward them. It rolled up to the edge of the platform, and stopped.

The dust cleared, and in front of them stood an old fashioned coach, missing its team of horses. A man with a flushed, cheerful face beamed down at them.

"Blimey's 'ot today!" he exclaimed, jumping down to the platform. "'An I reckon'll jus' get 'otter."

He began to load their things into the back compartment.

"Yeh should've 'eard the wife complainin' this mornin', 'twasn' pleasan' I can tell yeh."

Ignoring the man's babbling, Snape opened the coach door, motioning for Harry and Malfoy to get inside, then went to help with the larger of the crates.

"So tha's 'em lads of yer's, Severus," the man said when the last of the luggage was stowed away. He wiped his brow on his sleeve and looked at them scrutinizingly.

"Yes," Snape replied dryly.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "Look like fine fellows. The wife'll wan' ter meet 'em."

Snape ignored this. "We should get going, don't want to be out in this sun longer than necessary."

They stayed silent throughout the short ride, while the man kept up a steady stream of conversation.

The road took them down a cobblestone road along a stone wall overgrown with moss and wines. Finally the coach stopped in front of an iron gate.

"Here's where I leave yeh," their driver announced pleasantly, winking.

Harry got out of the coach, his feet kicking up dust. He looked through the gate and the overgrown tangle of trees and brush beyond it, trying to catch a glimpse of the house hidden in the shadows they created. It looked abandoned, or at least very neglected.

"Leave your things, they will be brought in later," Snape said, struggling with the gate and its massive lock. It creaked open.

Malfoy followed Snape, but Harry grabbed Hedwig's cage first. It didn't escape Snape's notice, and earned him another black look.

"Take the owl in there," he said, motioning toward a stone structure with a domed roof.

Harry did so, and Hedwig settled happily next to a large, shaggy gray owl that reminded Harry of Erroll. It looked as neglected as the rest of the place.

When Harry emerged a minute later, the front door was open and there was no sign of Snape and Malfoy.

With one final look around the untidy yard, Harry mounted the wide front steps, mindful of the cracks, and went inside. 


	12. Acclimation

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust after the bright sunlight.

He stood in the entrance hall, which had no windows except for two narrow panels on either side of the front door. On his left was a doorway, on his right a staircase.

He went through the doorway, and found himself in the front room. Malfoy was sitting on a couch, looking bored, and Snape was pulling the drapes from the windows. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the room.

He sat down and looked around the room curiously.

It was clean but barren, devoid of any of the normal signs of life that one could expect to find in someone's home.

"Aren't there any house-elves?" Malfoy asked as they watched Snape struggling to open a window, which seemed to be stuck.

"There were the last time I was here," Snape replied, giving up on the window and turning around, noticing Harry for the first time.

"Go upstairs," he told both of them. "Your rooms are the first two on the left."

He left the room, heading down a dark and narrow hall that Harry had not noticed earlier.

For a moment, neither Harry nor Malfoy moved.

"I can't _believe_ this place," Malfoy moaned, rolling his eyes and getting up off the couch.

The staircase was dark, but the hallway upstairs had several windows. Malfoy opened the first door on the left, and stuck his head in.

"You can have this one," he said, wrinkling his nose and stepping aside.

Harry watched him open the second door and disappear inside, before stepping inside the room.

Despite the warm weather outside, it was cold and gloomy, the windows, like the ones downstairs, covered by heavy drapes. He couldn't make out anything else in the room until he pulled the drapes aside, letting in the sunlight.

He turned around, slowly letting his eyes take in the details.

There was not much to see. There was a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a desk and a chair. A square rug with an ugly brown pattern covered the floor. There was nothing else.

At least it was clean.

He pulled the chair up to the window and sat down. Until his trunk was brought up or Snape returned, there didn't seem to be anything to do but stare out at the overgrown garden. A tall tree blocked his view of the country side.

He stared out the window until the sun began to set. By then his stomach was growling and he was nearing the end of his patience. There was nothing in the room to distract his thoughts. He was used to spending time alone -- at the Dursleys' he had often been locked in his cupboard for hours and even days at a time -- but he couldn't suppress his stirring anger at being cold-shouldered.

He sighed, trying to push back his frustration. What had he expected?

He hadn't expected anything, except maybe that things would be different, somehow, outside Hogwarts' walls. No Dumbledore, no Lupin, no Ron or Hermione to bother with. He thought he would feel relieved, but instead he found himself struggling with inexplicable anxiety.

Outside his door he heard Malfoy leave his room and go down the stairs. He followed, glad for any excuse to leave the room, which had grown dark now that the sun had disappeared behind the trees.

It was obvious that Snape had found at least one house-elf, because the upstairs hallway was lit by the yellowish glow of a dozen torches, and the aroma of food cooking nearly overwhelmed Harry as he started down the stairs.

He found the dining room, where a fire blazed in the massive fireplace and a long table was set for three. Malfoy and Snape were already sitting down, Malfoy looking eager and Snape writing something on a long roll of parchment.

Food appeared much the same way as it did at Hogwarts, but it did not resemble any Hogwarts meal. Instead of meats, pies, and puddings there were vegetables, bread, and soup. There was no dessert, only strong, bitter herbal tea. Harry, used to the strange eating habits of the Dursleys and still recalling easily the times he had been forced to go without food, filled his plate without complaint. They ate in silence.

When the dishes disappeared through the table, Snape rose.

"Let me make clear the rules you will follow in this house," he said, giving each of them a hard look to make sure they were paying attention.

"The cellar is off limits, as is the third floor, and my own bedchamber. You may go out, but you are not to leave the grounds. You may," -- He turned to look at Harry -- "send owls if you wish to do so, but only to those you know from Hogwarts. You will attend every meal, promptly. You will not neglect your studies."

He thought for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively. "You may go unpack, and then I suggest you go to bed."

He turned his back on them, adding wood to the fire that had almost gone out.

Harry trudged upstairs, suddenly feeling tired enough to collapse into bed immediately.

Someone had been busy in his room while he was away. A fire crackled in the fireplace, torches had been lit, and his trunk had been brought up.

Despite the fire, the room felt cold and uninviting.

He unpacked, stacking his books on the desk and hanging his few clothes in the wardrobe.

There seemed to be nothing else to do.

He changed and got into bed, looking one last time around the room before shutting his eyes firmly.

His next conscious thought was waking up to a blinding beam of sunlight coming through the window pane. He shielded his eyes and sat up. He looked around, trying to recall what had awakened him.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He looked toward the window, blinking at the brightness.

A large barn owl was perched on the window sill outside, and was tapping on the glass. Harry jumped up and pushed the window open.

"Sorry, I don't have any food for you," he said apologetically as he removed the letter from the owl's leg.

The owl flew off, clearly not expecting to carry back a reply, and he sat down on the edge of his bed, tearing open the envelope.

_Dear Harry,_

_Professor Dumbledore feels that we need to give you time to adjust, but I couldn't resist writing, if only to give you my address in case you want to owl me over the summer. I should have done so before you left; somehow it slipped my mind. But there, I'm rambling. I admit I'm struggling with anxiety, though I am certain everything is fine and you are adjusting to your surroundings. Dumbledore is right, I should give you time._

_My address is enclosed, please feel free to owl me at any time._

_Yours,  
R. J. Lupin_

Harry smiled weakly at the awkward note, then read it again, twice, before realizing what he was doing.

He dropped the letter into the drawer of his nightstand. For a few moments, he had almost missed Lupin, could almost see the man's face in front of him, the concern in his eyes along with the sadness that never left them now.

He shook his head to clear the image. He was _not_ missing anyone. Not less than a day after leaving Hogwarts.

He gathered his clothes, and for the first time opened the door to the bathroom. He should have taken a shower the night before. His hair clung to his forehead, and his skin felt grimy. Now he would probably be late for breakfast. He could almost hear Snape again, and his warning to be prompt for meals.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of an old-fashioned bathtub with clawed feet. One thing he _would_ be missing were the tidy Hogwarts showers.

He showered, and dressed, and wiped the steam from the mirror. He tried to smooth down his hair; as usual a useless gesture. His face was thin and pale, and he couldn't remember when his eyes had grown so large. He turned away from his own reflection.

Footsteps in the hallway outside offered a welcome distraction.

He went slowly downstairs and into the dining room, where Snape and Malfoy were in the middle of breakfast. Snape didn't look up when Harry came in, so Harry slipped quietly into his chair.

The plate in front of him remained empty.

Nothing could have induced him to speak up, so he sat in glum silence. His mouth watered at the sight of Malfoy dipping a piece of fruit into a bowl of cream, and the stack of plump sausages on Snape's plate. He couldn't help squirming unhappily. Was Snape planning on starving him as punishment?

Snape looked up, as if hearing his thoughts. He didn't say anything, but held eye-contact for a prolonged moment, and Harry, falling into an old trap, dropped his eyes. Snape sniffed scornfully, and speared a sausage with his fork.

A moment later Harry's plate was filled.

He began to eat quickly, not wanting to be the last to finish, until he looked up and saw that Snape had frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth and was staring at him in mute agitation.

He sighed as he slowed down, and moved his elbow off the table for good measure. He would never please Snape, no matter what he did. He didn't know why he tried at all.

It was another grim meal, and he breathed a sigh of relief when it was over. He was going to escape to his room, and reply to Lupin's letter.

"I intend to get some work done this morning," Snape announced.

Not understanding, Harry looked uncertainly at Malfoy, but Malfoy looked blank.

"Go out," Snape clarified, pointing at the door.

Harry went out into the garden, feeling wrathful and trying to understand how him sitting up in his room would have bothered Snape.

His curiosity got the better of him as he picked a path and started to circle the house slowly. He had never seen such a neglected place before. The weathered walls were covered with moss and creeping vines. The stones of path he walked on were broken and crumbling, with weeds pushing up from below. He had to duck under overhanging branches, or squeeze around shrubbery. If there were house-elves, clearly they did not leave the house.

He visited Hedwig, but she lost interest in him as soon as she realized he had not brought treats.

Finally he came across a bench and sat down.

He tried to force his mind to drift, which was the surest way to pass the time. It had been a while since he had been able to lose himself; ever since he had worn out his welcome in the dungeons he had been unable to find much time to be alone, and lately, the detached feeling simply refused to come.

That was the case now.

Sunlight filtered through the trees overhead, creating a pattern of spots and streaks on the ground. A bird sang cheerily. It was too light, too animated. Everything reminded him of life, he couldn't filter it out.

He gave up, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.

Time dragged. It was his first day there, and he was already bored out of his mind.

He managed to be on time for lunch, and afterwards went up to his room. He spent the rest of the afternoon studying; the only activity he could get his mind to focus on. He started to write a response to Lupin, but after several attempts he gave up, realizing his letter bordered on whining.

The day couldn't end soon enough, and when he got into bed, the darkness lulled him into a rare deep sleep. 


	13. The Work of House Elves

The next morning he awoke to a summer shower. The sun was shining as brightly as ever, but rain fell in torrents from the clear blue sky.

For some reason the rain and the fresh, clean air irritated Harry. Additionally, he had left the window open the night before, and now he had to step over a puddle of water to slam the windowpane shut.

Not bothering to comb his hair, he went down to breakfast.

Snape didn't look up from the newspaper when Harry took his seat. Malfoy was already eating, but he looked up to glare at Harry.

Harry noticed that it wasn't just him. After every few bites Malfoy would look up and glare at Snape. Since he couldn't see Snape through the newspaper, he was actually glaring at a witch who was showing off new summer robes on the fashion spread.

Harry focused on his plate. He was feeling inexplicably irritable and angry, and was glad no one was speaking to him. He thought he might say something regrettable if provoked, and the last thing he wanted was to get into it with Snape first thing in the morning. If he ate fast, maybe he could get through the meal before Snape finished reading.

As if in direct answer to Harry's thoughts, Snape put down the paper and gave him a long look. Either he didn't like what he saw, or he, too, was feeling sour that morning.

"You will both begin your work in the east wing today," he said, looking from Harry to Malfoy as if challenging either one to disagree.

Harry had no idea what Snape was going on about. What work? He looked at Malfoy to see if Snape's words had meant anything to him.

Malfoy had wiped the scowl off his face, but he wasn't looking pleased, and it seemed to Harry that he didn't look confused either.

"Draco, explain to Potter what you will be doing."

Malfoy looked even less pleased by this order, but Snape had already stood up and was pulling on his cloak. "I will be back by dinner. I expect progress."

Then, with a loud crack, he was gone.

Harry stared at the spot where Snape had disappeared, feeling still more annoyed and confused. He turned to Malfoy. "What was that all about?"

Malfoy flung down a piece of toast and got up. "Come on, Potter."

Harry followed him. "Are you going to tell me, or...?"

"We're Snape's slaves now," Malfoy threw over his shoulder. "Get used to it."

At the end of a long, narrow hallway stood a pair of mops and a bucket of soapy water. Dust rags were in a pile against the wall.

Malfoy made an exaggerated motion to indicate the half dozen doors in front of them. "Where would you like to start?"

"I wouldn't," Harry said, catching on.

Malfoy shoved a mop at his chest, smirking. "Get used to it," he repeated.

Harry waited while Malfoy took up the remaining mop, the bucket, and a handful of rags, and followed him through the first doorway.

"This is wretched," he said, looking around the gloomy room. All the furniture was covered with sheets, and the dust was an inch thick. His trainers stuck to the floor with every step, like he was walking through mud.

Malfoy pulled the curtains from the window and choked on the cloud of dust. "Yes. I can't see why a house-elf can't do it."

"Are there house-elves?" Harry asked doubtfully. "Have you seen one?"

"Of course there are. Who else would light all the fires and make the food and draw our baths?"

Harry nodded vaguely. He was thinking perhaps the house-elves were too old, or too cantankerous, to do the sort of work Snape had assigned. Certainly the house looked neglected enough...

"Are you going to just stand there, staring?" Malfoy demanded, cutting into his thoughts. "I'm not going to do all the work here!"

Harry dipped his mop into the bucket and headed for the corner of the room. Looking back at Malfoy, he wondered why Malfoy had submitted to this. The spoiled brat; Harry would have expected him to throw a hellish tantrum over being made to do this sort of work. Harry, of course, had done much harder chores at the Dursleys, and was used to it, but he doubted Malfoy had ever held a mop in his life. There was something unnatural about the sight of Draco Malfoy trying to keep dirt off his boots as he dragged his mop uselessly over the floor in the center of the room.

"Start in the corner," Harry said, not because he was feeling particularly benevolent, but because at that rate they would never finish.

Malfoy looked up at him with annoyance. "Why?"

"So you don't keep walking over the part that's already clean."

Malfoy moved over to the corner opposite from where Harry was working.

At least, thought Harry, they had magic. The water in the bucket stayed clean no matter how many times he dipped in his dingy mop, and the mop itself had been spelled to wring itself out.

That, however, did not make him feel better. He couldn't get over his indignation over being forced to clean dirty floors in Snape's house over his summer holidays. He wondered if Dumbledore knew what was going on, and if not, what he would think when...

Harry caught himself just as he was imagining firing off an angry letter to Dumbledore, and shook his head. Of course he wouldn't. What was the matter with him? Hadn't he wanted to spend the summer with Snape?

He attacked the floor with new determination.

It took them two hours to finish, and for all their work there was very little effect. The floor didn't shine. The windows had grime coating them on the other side, where they couldn't reach. The drapes, though they had shaken the dust out of them, still looked dirty and discolored, and in addition they had not been able to hang them up completely straight.

Malfoy looked around the room, his shoulders slumped. "I think it's worse now than it was before we started."

Harry wiped his forehead with his sleeve and headed for the next room. "The floor needs to be waxed. Everything is old, stained, and faded. Dusting and mopping is about all we can do."

He sighed as he dipped his mop into the water and began again. This room looked even larger and dirtier than the previous.

When he didn't hear Malfoy working, he stopped and turned to see what he was doing.

Malfoy was standing in the center of the room, staring at his hands with an ugly scowl.

"What is it now?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy turned his palms outward, showing him the red blisters.

Harry refused to feel sorry for him. He was feeling sorry enough for himself. "Get used to it," he said nastily, turning back to his work.

After a long silence, he heard Malfoy pick up his mop and move to the opposite corner.

It felt like hours before Snape returned, and by then they were both tired, sweaty, grimy, and in wretched moods. Harry didn't even hear Snape come into the room; he was too busy being angry at Malfoy, who had left a trail of dirty footprints across the newly cleaned floor.

"My hands hurt," Malfoy began to whine as soon as he saw Snape in the doorway. "Look at them!"

To Harry's absolute disgust, Snape motioned for Malfoy to follow him out of the room. He could hear Malfoy complaining all the way down the hallway.

He threw down the mop and folded his hands across his chest. No way was he going to continue working while Malfoy got a reprieve. His hands were blistered too, but did anyone care?

Then he looked around and realized there was nothing left to do but dust the mantle and take the cleaning supplies out of the room. It wasn't worth an argument with Snape.

He trudged up to his room and went straight into the showed. He didn't care if he missed dinner altogether; all he cared about was getting clean again.

"Let me see your hands," Snape said, his tone not betraying any genuine concern, when Harry finally came downstairs, having thought about but decided against locking himself in his room to make a point.

Harry held out his hands, making sure the sores on his thumbs were in plain sight.

"Wash them with soap," Snape said after a quick glance.

Malfoy, Harry noted as he sat down at the table, no longer sported any blisters, judging by the easy manner with which he handled his knife and fork. His own hands were still stinging from the soap and hot water.

As soon as he finished eating, Harry gave in to his earlier impulse; he returned to his room, locked the door, and called Snape every swear he could think of.

It helped, though not by much.

He finally took out Lupin's letter again, thinking he would write a short, unemotional response; one that would neither encourage nor discourage further exchanges. He was starting to get the feeling that after a few more days with Snape and Malfoy, he might actually want to write to someone; not to complain, but to have a decent conversation.

Professor Lupin:

Thank you for your letter. I am well. I have my own room and am being fed.

It was only when he started to write that he realized his hands were no longer hurting. Examining them carefully, he couldn't find more than a trace of redness across his palms.

Feeling suddenly deflated, he stared at his own words on the parchment in front of him.

He hadn't been planning to complain about his situation, aside from making a few snide comments that couldn't return to bite him. Not only did he know perfectly well that Lupin could not help him, but he was also afraid Lupin might do something rash, like show up in person to give Snape a piece of his mind, which would likely leave Harry in a worse predicament than he was currently in. Still, the act of writing to someone on the outside would have been one of rebellion, no matter how minor, and now the necessary rage had been knocked out of him.

He sighed and put his quill deliberately on the paper and scratched out the last line.

There is no need for concern, I am getting along with Professor Snape.

He scratched that out too, after a bit of thought. It being a lie, Lupin might think Snape dictated the letter.

He bit the tip of his quill, not knowing what he could write. After a few minutes of frustration, he rolled the parchment up and returned it to the drawer, along with Lupin's letter. He hoped Lupin wasn't expecting a prompt answer.

He stretched out on the bed and folded his arms under his head.

The ceiling was stained. It disgusted him to look at the yellowish streaks, and he shut his eyes.

As he drifted off to asleep, there was a feeling in the back of his head that something had gone terribly astray with his vision of what summer with Snape would be like. 


	14. Setback

"I'm not doing this anymore," Malfoy said, dropping his mop and throwing himself into an armchair, raising a cloud of dust.

"Why didn't you tell Snape, then? Easy enough to be brave once he isn't breathing down your neck. Get up. I'm not going to do your work for you."

Malfoy glared at him, and Harry swallowed his frustration and turned away from him. Let Malfoy deal with Snape himself, when the room wasn't clean and Snape demanded to know why.

"You know why he's making us do this, don't you?"

Harry shook his head. "No idea."

"It's your fault."

Harry pursed his lips and continued mopping. Malfoy had been contrary the entire morning, always whining about one thing or another. Not that Harry could really blame him. They had scrubbed two bathrooms, and were now working in a room that seemed to actually grow larger with every passing hour.

"I said," Malfoy repeated peevishly, "this is your fault, Potter."

Harry sighed and paused, leaning heavily on his mop. "I heard you. Unless you're going to tell me _why_ it's my fault, or better yet get off your arse and start working, I really don't care."

"He thinks the work is good for you. It's all your fault."

Harry said nothing, gritting his teeth and returning to work.

Maybe what Malfoy said was true. Maybe Snape did want to keep him busy.

Or maybe he didn't know what to do with two teenagers in his house. Or thought they owed him something for taking them in. There could be a hundred reasons, and one was as good as another. It didn't matter, as far as Harry was concerned.

"This was supposed to be the best summer of my life, you know," Malfoy said, breaking the long silence.

Harry couldn't help stealing a glance at him. Best summer of his life? He'd always assumed Malfoy had been pampered and petted by his parents, and given anything he wanted.

Malfoy was cleaning again, his hair hanging over his face, hiding it from view. Harry looked away before Malfoy could see him staring.

They worked in silence. When Snape came in, neither one noticed him until he was nearly upon them.

"Dinner will be served in one hour," Snape said, looking around the room disdainfully. "Leave everything. You will have time to finish tomorrow."

Harry exchanged a pained look with Malfoy as they followed Snape out of the room. Malfoy looked too tired to whine about the state of his hands, which Harry could see were covered with even more blisters than the previous day.

They reached the landing, and Malfoy headed upstairs while Harry hesitated, waiting until the door to Malfoy's room had shut before running after Snape.

"Professor, wait!"

Snape turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing. "What is it, Potter?"

Harry stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath from the extra exertion. "You don't have to punish Malfoy. I'll do the work myself, if that's what you want."

"I am not punishing Draco," Snape said, "not that it's any of your business. Draco has a few lessons to learn about the value of hard work. Return to your room."

Snape turned away from him and continued down the stairs, and Harry dragged himself upstairs to wash up and change clothes.

"I don't need you to defend me, Potter."

Harry didn't look up. "Bugger off, Malfoy. Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?"

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed in Harry's head, turning into a dull hammering. It followed him all the way into his own room.

Harry climbed into the old fashioned bathtub and turned on the hot water. He felt odd, like his head was stuffed with cotton. His hands stung, and everything seemed to ache. He hoped he wasn't coming down with anything.

He let the water reach his chin, shut his eyes against the glare from the oil lamps, and waited for the feeling to pass.

He wasn't sure when he became aware of it. It had started as a pounding inside his skull, but at some point he realized it was no longer coming from within his own head.

The pounding became louder and louder. Harry forced open his eyes just in time to see the door fly open.

"Hey!" Harry yelped, scrambling to the edge of the tub and making a grab for a towel. "You can't just barge in here!"

Snape lowered his wand and glared at him.

Harry, now safely covered up, looked around.

The bathroom was a disaster. Water had flooded the floor, soaking the clothing he had left piled on the braided mat.

"What happened?" he asked wearily, though he already had a good idea.

"I was going to ask you the same thing, Potter."

Harry sighed and stepped out of the tub, trying not to trip over the towel. He had to hold on to the edge of the tub. His legs were as heavy as lead. "I must have fallen asleep."

Snape's eyes bore into him, and Harry felt his face grow even hotter.

"I wasn't trying to drown myself, if that's what you think!"

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I was tired! I wasn't feeling well..." Harry realized as he said this that the achy feeling was still with him, and that his head reeled simply from the effort of standing upright and keeping his balance.

Snape continued to look unconvinced. "You look perfectly healthy to me."

Harry pursed his lips, refusing to argue with Snape. A lot of good that ever did!

"However," Snape went on after a minute, "if you aren't feeling well you belong in bed. I suggest you take yourself there now."

Harry was so glad to escape that he made no protest. He sloshed through the water and out the door, averting his eyes from Snape as he squeezed past him in the doorway. He could feel Snape watching him the entire time.

Snape wasn't the only one. Harry glimpsed Malfoy through the open door, just before the other boy vanished out of sight.

Great. What kind of spectacle had he made of himself?

He climbed into bed, disregarding his wet hair and the sodden towel he still clutched around himself because he was sure, even without looking, that Snape was still watching him.

Finally, when he was under the covers up to his chin, he dared a glance toward the bathroom door.

Snape was muttering something, his wand moving slowly in a circular motion. Harry assumed he was spelling away the water.

He shut his eyes when Snape relit the lamps. The light hurt even through his eyelids.

He didn't want to talk to Snape, and deal with more accusations. He just wanted to be left alone. Why couldn't Snape understand?

"Potter?"

Harry kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he knew he would see the dark scowl on Snape's face, and have to listen to him ranting and raving about how stupid and worthless Harry was.

"Potter?"

He knew Snape was waiting for him to open his eyes so he could start yelling at him.

"I know you aren't asleep."

Harry couldn't have lifted his heavy eyelids even if he'd had the will to try.

He wondered why Snape said nothing else. He could feel the man standing over him, silent and angry, and any other time he wouldn't have been able to stand it. Now he didn't care, just as long as Snape didn't start shaking him or make him open his eyes. He kept waiting for Snape to force him awake again. Surely Snape wouldn't just stand there, knowing Harry could hear him perfectly well.

What seemed like hours passed, and then, just as he drifted off into heavy sleep, he thought he heard Snape's footsteps leaving his bedside. 


End file.
